


The Lord by the Window

by AdeMllr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternative Universe - No Volleyball, Artist Kageyama, College Student Kageyama, College Student Osamu, First Meetings, Forbidden Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Reincarnation, hinted atsuhina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdeMllr/pseuds/AdeMllr
Summary: "The painting focused on a single individual whose back was to the viewers so that only a part of the left side of his face could be seen. True to its name, the lord was sitting on some bench, looking out of a window which was illuminating light onto him and fighting off the shadows that were creeping up from the floor and walls of the room he was in. It wasn't a bad painting but Osamu was sure Renaissance subjects tend to look at the viewers or at least had their face in plain view. Not to mention while the lord and the inside were semi-detailed, the window was empty so that the lord seemed to be viewing a snow-filled landscape or nothingness which partly ruined the overall composition of the painting."An unfinished Renaissance painting hang on the gallery of a museum - this is a story of the last meeting and the first meeting that took placed in front of said painting centuries apart.
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Miya Osamu
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77





	The Lord by the Window

**15XX, _Florence, Italy_**

Kageyama's workshop was unsurprisingly empty as the rest of Florence knew of the artist's antisocial, and a bit misanthropic, nature and made a point of avoiding him unless he sought them out. Very few people had the special privilege of accessing the building without earning the artist's wrath.

Osamu Miya did not have this privilege which was why he had to be escorted in by the artist, who had a deep scowl that could cut through the Arno River. It did not help that it was twilight - the precious few natural light left for Kageyama to do his work was disappearing fast. Not that Osamu cared; he knew the artist painted by candle light anyway so he did not know what the man was so upset about (Actually he did knew but acting ignorance helped alleviated the ache in his heart and amplified the amusement of the moment).

"I thought you left this afternoon," Kageyama emotionlessly stated as he returned back to his canvas. He did not bothered making room anywhere in his workshop for Osamu to sit because by that point they had their own ritual with him painting and Osamu leaning against the wall - unless Kageyama needed him to model, than the bench by the window was cleared away.

"I did but I wanted to see how the painting was coming along," Osamu said in a bored manner. He dropped his traveling cloak onto the only chair in the room that did not looked painted on.

Kageyama's finger stilled over his brushes as he looked at the lord, who simply stared back.

"Then come here," the artist said. His words was like the bang of the door against the wall and if Osamu had not been leaning on the wall, he would had slid down in shock.

"It's done?"

"No."

Osamu internally frowned while his exterior showed nothing as he crossed the room and stood by the artist's side. He realized that Kageyama had grown a bit so that they were about the same height - at this rate, the man might surpassed him. And was it his imagination or was the artist's shoulder more broader. The passing glimpses during dinner in the past month at his family _palazzo_ had not been enough for Osamu to fully take in the changes of the artist who he had not seen for the last three months.

But all this disappeared from Osamu's mind as he took in the painting in front of him, feeling his breath left his lungs. Everything Kageyama painted always had this effect on him and although he prepared himself for it, every time he failed.

He remembered the first time he saw Kageyama's work. It was the _Annunciation_ , which now hang on the church wall. The Blessed Virgin Mary kneeling, surrounded by while lilies, her blue robes flowing around her like a small lake as the Archangel Gabriel appeared before her surrounded by wings of doves and halos announcing she would conceive and became the mother of the messiah. What had reminded with Osamu long after he left the church was the expression on the Blessed Virgin Mary's face - her eyes wide with shock, her month hanging loosely in awe but the acceptance in her stance. It was the first time, he understood what the moment must had meant to her.

That was the curst of Kageyama's work - the imprint it left on the viewers due to the expressions he painted on his subjects' faces. For a man so un-intune to social cues and people in general, he was able to expressed this very characteristics in his paintings.

_"I want you to create a painting that is capable of conveying a sense of loss and hope without ever showing your subject's face."_

This was the instruction Osamu had given Kageyama two years ago when he commissioned the artist to paint him. He knew it was an unusual demand but he thought Kageyama would had appreciated the challenge. He was not surprised when Kageyama had taken it without question but with a blazing fire in his eyes - he understood it was a challenge to test the limits of his skill and reputation as an artist. The lord, however, was surprised when Kageyama asked for a single favor - that Osamu modeled for him.

And now, Osamu could finally see the fruit of Kageyama's two years labor.

The painting was of a single figure, _himself_ , looking out of an open window; darkness crept onto him on the sides so that parts of his body blended with it. And yet, his clothes were detailed, part of his face that could be seen hinted at something. However, it was incomplete - the painting was not filled like the frescos that adorned the rooms of his family _palazzo_ or the walls of churches, it was not colorful as those paintings that blended light and darkness so well it was like looking at a living being. Yet it was still impressive by its own right - he had never seen anything like this.

Taking everything in and looking at his painted head again, Osamu's heart was filled with a sense of longing that was so deep yet so empty that no civilization thrive in it; it was a creek that remembered it used to be a river and longed for it.

Was this how Kageyama really saw him? An empty shell of a person trapped - or was that how Osamu saw himself and the painting was his mirror?

"Well?" The artist snapped. He had his arms folded and his forefingers tapped against his elbow in agitated impatience that he tried so hard to hide from his richer clients and Osamu shivered with delight at the realization that he was the one of the few who knew this.

But Osamu schooled his features. It won't do to make things easy for the artist. "Hmm, its less luminous than I thought it would be- perhaps a bit more details on the objects on the ground. I suppose I could feel the loss but hope seem nowhere to be seen-"

Kageyama snorted and walked away, muttering, "Trust you to never take this seriously."

"Excuse me, " Osamu drawled, knowing it would angered the artist even more going by his rigid shoulders, "this is my commission and I have every right to critique it."

"There is a different, _signor_ ," - the sneer on the title echoed in the room- "between constructive critique and a waste of time."

"I hope you don't talk to your other clients like this -it's a wonder you keep that temper of yours in check around them." Osamu made to look over the painting but in reality he was sneaking glances at Kageyama, who seem to be packing up for the night. His shoulders were set high that they were touching his ears as he grabbed his brushes with so much aggression one would think each and every one of them had done him a personal insult.

Osamu was only thirteen when he met the artist who was only eleven at the time but was already taken in as an apprentice of the great artist, ------ ----------. Kageyama's talent in drawing life-like figures only grew from then and by the time he was eighteen, he was already doing independent commissions.

As children, Osamu, along with his brother, would played with Kageyama and Hinata, another apprentice of the same artist, when the two boys visited the Miya's _palazzo_. They would spend the days paying tag, drawing in the dirt, and exploring Florence street (the twins always got scolded for sneaking out). Osamu got along well with Kageyama due to their similar quiet yet competitive nature and they both stood together against Atsumu, who was too bossy and rude (that was not to say Kageyama did not had his moments of arrogance, which Osamu and Hinata was quick to make fun of).

But then their voices deepen, their height grew, their shoulders broaden and suddenly Osamu and Atsumu became more involved with their family business while Kageyama and Hinata grew in reputation and skills along the path of _Signor_ Donatello, _Signor_ Leonardo De Vinci, and such. And the older they became, the distance between Osamu and Kageyama grew.

There a soft hiss and a curse behind the canvas. Osamu placed a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. He was the one to cause this - caused the quiet man to break out in agitation to the point he could not stayed still. It filled within him a sick sort of pleasure to know that he was capable of bringing this side out of the artist. Of course, he was not deluded to think he was the only one.

Osamu had liked Hinata as children but as an adult he found him a nuisance. This was mainly because of the rivalry between the red-haired artist and Kageyama. The simple fact was Hinata easily captured Kageyama's attention just by being in the same room as him and Osamu was left to sulk in the corner as he watched those two bragged about their commissions, their clients, and their works to each other. Thus, Osamu felt no guilt in turning certain commission toward Hinata as long as it meant getting him out of Kageyama's way and he felt nothing in bringing the red-haired artist to the attention of his brother. The last plan was a mistake as this meant Osamu could not have Hinata exiled from Florence, something he was tempted to do many times, as this would incurred Atsumu's wrath. Though they were twins, Atsumu was their father's heir thus he had a higher social standing and power than Osamu.

"Now that you had seen it and had said what you wanted, you can leave." Kageyama's sharp voice pulled Osamu back from his reminisce. And he found himself under the electrifying glare of those blue eyes that promised physical repercussion if Osamu did not leave. But Osamu did not wanted to leave - he wanted to remain and tease little Kageyama; he wanted to torment him, play him, smother him until all Kageyama could think of was him and him alone. 

"I don't think so, I haven't given my full critic now have I? And you cannot say no to this, If I don't get what I want then what is the point of spending all my _liras_?"

"Your father's _liras_."

Osamu waved it away and started pointing out everything he found wrong about the painting and all the points that would improved. Each words must had been a catapult into Kageyama's pride going by his clenching fist and trembling shoulders. Osamu found this far too amusing and any guilt he had over his behavior had long since dulled and beaten into the mud.

"And so when I returned in four months time, I hope to find a finished painting with the right changes made."

"Won't you too busy with your _wife_ by then to care?"

Osamu looked at his former friend, his face betraying nothing. "My wedding shouldn't be much of an obstacle - beside I would have you repaint it if it is not to my satisfaction."

"You'll have to have Hinata do that- I won't be in Florence by that time."

"What?" Confusion and surprised filled Osamu's face and Kageyama stood straight in satisfaction of bringing it out of the cold lord. Osamu internally scowled and schooled his feature back to stoicism. "Where will you be?"

"Rome."

"Rome?"

"Yes."

"You hated Rome."

Kageyama shrugged. "I have taken a commission there."

"Will you still be at my wedding?"

"I can't not come - your father invited me."

"Whose your new client?" Osamu demanded. His heart was galloping up a storm as this news overtook him. Kageyama? Leaving Florence? Why- why do that when Kageyama was starting to make a name in this city? And how long had this been known? Had his father knew that his favorite was leaving? Atsumu? Hinata?

Why was Osamu always, always the last to know?

Kageyama glared at him and turned away. He picked up Osamu's cloak and threw it toward the lord, who caught it easily. "Leave."

" _Don't_ order me - don't forget I am your superior."

"Then stop acting like a child!"

Osamu slammed his cloak onto the floor as he crossed the room in long, angry strides. Kageyama did not flinched as he crossed his hands and harden his frown as Osamu stood a few centimeters from him.

"Why won't you tell me who your client is? Even if you don't tell, I can always ask father or Atsumu-"

The slight quiver in Kageyama's eyes was telling and suddenly Osamu had a leverage. He gave out a cruel grin. "So you took the job without my father knowing and after everything he had done for you. Getting you the apprenticeship, have you in his house, and this is how you give thanks after your name is established. It won't do for him to learn of this now, would it?"

Kageyama jerked away - his emotionless mask finally broken as he realized his mistake. "You won't -"

"I don't know." Osamu said in a mocking pensive expression. "But it really won't look good for you-"

"Why do you hate me so much?" Kageyama demanded causing the words to choke on Osamu's throat as the lord gasped at the artist.

"I hate you? You were the one who all started this!"

It wasn't noticeable at first since Kageyama started not coming to the _palazzo_ as often. Osamu had thought it was due to his increasing workload but then he learned that Kageyama had been talking with Atsumu in his spare time on the streets or in the workshop. But when Osamu made a visit, Kageyama seem to be busy or had something really urgent to see to and would walked away. 

To add salt on wound, two years ago, Kageyama was commissioned by the twins' father to paint their portraits. While Atsumu's portrait was greatly admired and well-received, Osamu's portrait, although amazing by itself, paled in comparison. Osamu had been both angry at Kageyama for daring to think he could get away with this insult and envious at his brother for having a portrait that was well painted and looked after.

With this in mind, Osamu had demanded Kageyama to paint him again - this time away from his father's sight ( the old man had not found nothing wrong with the portraits but then his father had always preferred Atsumu, who had taken more after him, than his youngest son). It was true, Osamu had wanted to challenge Kageyama with the painting - but he had also wanted to _humiliate_ him. Gave him an impossible request and see him floundered.

But of course, Kageyama always rose in face of adversary.

"You hated me first," Osamu reminded - it was taking everything in him not to take Kageyama by the shoulders and shook him so that the artist could feel at least a tenth of the pain he had put him through for the last ten years. Every time he stretched out his hand, Kageyama would pulled away and Osamu was left reeling with his hand hanging on to nothing. "You were the one who pushed me away so excuse me if I don't fawn over you as everyone else."

"You never fawn over me."

"I am sure you were greatly hurt by that."

"Shut up and just leave already! I will have the painting finished in time so you don't have to worry about that." And Kageyama started turning away.

Maybe it was the dismissive tone in his words or perhaps because it was seeing Kageyama's back to him for the hundredth and knowing this might be the last thing he see of the man for the next four months, whatever it was, something inside Osamu snapped and he reached out.

He was done waiting.

Osamu forcefully grabbed Kayama's hand and pulled him in causing the artist, in shock from the contact and the force, to lost his step and fell to his side. But he never reached the floor, for Osamu pulled him up again and used the wall behind him as support to keep them upright.

The same moment Kageyama's back slammed to the wall, Osamu was kissing him. It was a hard push that was far too rough and clumsy but it did not stop the current of pleasure that blossomed in Osamu's heart to the tips of his fingers; it did not stop his legs from almost toppling over as all his sense by Kageyama. The smell of paint mixed with something fruity, woody; the sharp gasp from the artist's lips at the rough treatment; the heat of the artist's body despite the layers of clothes in between - everything Osamu had dreamed about, had wanted was before him.

And Kageyama was not fighting back nor was he bringing Osamu in. He was still as a statue and it was this that had Osamu reluctantly pulling away. He did not immediately opened his eyes because he did not want to see artist' disgust, hatred, angry - he did not want them to be directed at him again.

"Why?" The question was a breathless mixture of disbelief and confusion. But there was no disgust there - no anger. Osamu slowly opened his eyes and felt his lungs collapsed.

Kageyama's face was lightly flushed - his eyes were wide, his mouth hanging a bit open, his brows had disappeared behind his bangs; he was breathing hard as his arms hang limply on his sides.

"I know you hate me," Osamu said, his voice was ragged rocks against an incoming wave. "But for the life of me, I cannot get you out of mind. Believe me I tried but whenever I entered a room filled to the brim with artists, I look for you. When I see a painting, I thought of how yours were better. When I hear ------'s name, I thought of you. When I ate a dish, I thought of how you would have love it. Everything I see, hear, touch, taste, I thought of you. I hate it. I hate it so much that I wish someone could erase you from my memories, that I never met you." Osamu leaned his forehead onto the artist, who was still frozen stiff. "But the thought of not having you in my life, the thought of not having known you, it hurts even more. It hurt more than you pretending I never existed because I rather be ignored by you than not have known you."

There was a deep intake of breath and Osamu waited with a pounding heart of the inevitable rejection. Embarrassment crept in as he laid his heart out but he wanted Kageyama to know.

He was done waiting for Kageyama to come to him because for the last ten years it was what always Osamu had done. Waited for Kageyama to explain his cold, distant attitude toward him; waited for him to visit; waited for him to grab his hand. Yet no matter how much time past, no matter many times Osamu made a snide remarks, an insult, or an insinuation, Kageyama never came.

"You can't just- I can't - we-" Kageyama looked so lost as he moved his head from side to side. Osamu lifted his head away to allow the movement, his own brows tighten in confusion at this unexpected reaction. "You can't do this!"

"Why not?" Osamu demanded. Again, Kageyama was pulling away from Osamu. The lord tightened his hold on the artist hand so that they were by the artist's head. 

Kageyama gritted his teeth at the restriction but no matter how hard he tried to push, Osamu was stronger. Accepting the position, the artist sighed out a frustrated curse before looking at his former friend; his eyes wide. "You are getting marry!"

"So?"

"So? This is impossible - this, whatever this is."

"This?" Osama's heart leapt and tried as he might to stop the hope from raising. "Is there a 'this' between us?"

"The church will have your head if they know about you."

Osamu gave out a humorless laugh, "If so I would gave names of those in the church _itself_ and they can't touch me not when they are in my family's pockets! But let's not get sidetracked," - he leaned closer- "what is 'this' that you are so determined to avoid?"

But Kageyama was a stubborn fool who only clenched his hand and refused to say anymore. But what he had said, the way he had acted was enough to give Osamu an idea - a beautiful, impossible, hopeful idea that had him wanting to run out onto the hills in joy.

"Kageyama," Osamu whispered, causing the artist to flinch for the whisper was not the cold, emotionless sound but one filled with pain, want, and gentleness. "Could it be - that you want me?"

The artist tried to lean away and that was answer enough. Osamu's hand lost its strength and he dropped them but Kageyama did not moved away as the man remained where he was, locked under Osamu's disbelieving eyes.

"Why did not tell me?" Osamu asked in a breathless daze as his head felt unconnected to his body.

"You were getting marry."

"That was an arranged marriage. Besides," Osamu shook his head, "you had be ignoring me long before that!"

"What does it matter?" Kageyama demanded, finally walking away.

"Of course it matter!" Osamu thundered as he followed after him. "If I have known-"

"You will what? Make fun of me even more? Torment me? Accused me to the bishop?" It was a cramped room so there was not much space for Kageyama to run and if he did run into the street, Osamu was following him.

They stopped in front the make shift bed - one that Kageyama used on nights he was overtaken by a painting fever that had him locked in the workshop- that laid opposite to the painting.

"I would do no such thing!" Osamu exclaimed, his mouth now widen in a grin that had Kageyama narrowing his eyes. Did he not understand? "Have you not heard a single word I just said? Have you forgotten how I have kiss you not a minute ago!"

Kageyama's face flushed again as his shoulder rose to his eyes- like a cat. "That was a sick joke!"

Osamu let out a frustrated scoff. "You are doing it again- ignoring me. Why are you so afraid?"

"I am not afraid."

"Your self-imposed ignorance beg to differ, you selfish coward."

Kageyama was right in front of him and he grabbed Osamu's collar with so much force that Osamu had to steady himself so that they won't fall.

"You bastard! You have been tormenting me from the moment we meet. Everything I do, you were by my sides - asking me what I want, taking the time to get to know me, looking after me. You won't leave me alone! With each moment, you were making me hope, making me want something that I can never have because that's what it is. You will never me mine because you are the son of the Miyas and in four months you are getting marry - you will be further from me than ever before. I need to take care of myself, I need to look after my family and art is the only way I can do but I can't make art if I do not have clients. Do you think your father would be so kind to me, so forth giving if he knew how much I wanted you? So forgive me for putting myself over you."

Osamu kissed him again and this time Kageyama pulled him in. The admittance was like a floodgate being opened and out pour every want, every need that burned within them to the point leaning away from the kiss, from each other was impossible. It was a miracle they got to the bed without stumbling onto the floor ( though if they did, Osamu highly doubt either of them were moving away).

When Kageyama started leaning away, Osamu maneuvered them around so that the artist laid on his back as the lord placed his elbows on each side of Kageyama's face. Both were breathing hard.

Kageyama's eyes, like his painting, dug into Osamu's soul; tugging at it, daring him to let it out - and let him in. And yet, those same blue eyes were well guarded. He would not do the same for Osamu. Kageyama's paintings were a reflection of the subject's inner world while the artist, the thief, reminded in the shadows.

It was all so unfair.

"Is this your first time with a man?" Osamu asked

"No."

Osamu stilled as the single word washed over him like a raging tidal wave - how his heart seethed at the thought, at the idea, at the image of Kageyama with any man but him. Who was he? When did it happen? Is he still part of Kageyama's life? How did it happen? Was it at this very bed? Osamu wanted to burn it immediately.

"Jealous?" Kageyama's blue eyes gleamed in the darkening light- so did the challenging note in his voice.

"Very."

Kageyama blinked like he did not expected an honest answer or the low growl that accompanied it. Then, he smirked. "And _you_ , is this your first time with a man?"

"No. Jealous?" Osamu smirked as he leaned over so that their lips were a centimeter apart.

" _Very_." Kageyama pulled his collar and their lips collided and sparks ignited throughout Osamu's body that no lighting could recreate. 

There was anger, pain, jealousy, greed, and desire mixed into the passion as they both thrown themselves into this moment that both thought was never possible. But it was possible, it was happening. Years and years of holding back was let loose and both found there was so much they wanted to touch, to bite, to destroy.

 _Now, you are mine_ , one of them thought as he almost ripped off the other's shirt.

 _This is happening, you are here_ , the other thought as they grabbed hold of the other's hair and pulled him down so that he could bit his neck. There was a sharp gasp and a stinging pain in the back as the nails scratched the hard muscles.

 _That will leave a mark_ , both men thought in satisfaction. _Good_.

The sun had set so darkness slowly consumed the room until the light of the full moon ensured full visual was not lost. Osamu was thankful of that for the pale light illuminated Kageyama's fair skin - now deliciously flushed, his blue eyes - gleaming with raging passion that had Osamu momentarily dazed. The mix of darkness and light was, however, a bit frustrating as he could not fully made out Kageyama's face but Osamu made due with the artist's gasps, groans, and moans as he touch, touch, touch until Osamu was lost to the haze of heat, delirious pleasure, and inescapable hunger.

Even when both had reached their zenith, the hunger remained as neither man moved away from the other. Indeed, the thought of leaning away or getting up never entered their mind as the only though that exist was how perfect their hands fit, how they legs tangled - it was impossible, a sacrilege to pull away.

Osamu laid on his sides while Kageyama was bent into him; his skin shivered as the artist's hot breath touched him and he tighten his hold around the man. The silence of the next minutes were punctured by their deep breaths as both men reflected on what had occurred and what was said.

Finally, Kageyama looked up and Osamu prepared his heart .

"I am going to Rome."

"I know," Osamu sighed. Even if he wanted to stop him, he could not, he would not. Rome meant that Kageyama's skill was becoming recognized. For a person like Kageyama whose very pride and life aligned to his art, this commission was a chance of a life time - he was no longer bound to one city, one patron. Kageyama was not a bird to be caged and kept for Osamu's entertainment. "I'm not going to tell father so you don't have to worry about that."

Kageyama nodded. His shoulder loosening in relief and Osamu could not even be offended by the implication of distrust for he won't had trust himself. The artist grabbed his face and kissed him - this was one was softer but just as passionate as few minutes ago.

Osamu pulled Kageyama closer so that every part of them touched; so that every heat, every twitches was felt; the artist let out a small gasp but returned the favor - his hands burned Osamu's skin as they slid over his side and his shoulder. Both pulling the other in as if doing so would untangled the chain around Osamu's ring finger and the noose from Kageyama's neck.

God should give him this moment - for the rest of his life, Osamu was going to be a pious man devoted to his wife, his children, and Him. At the very least, God could gave him this one moment to be with the one person he wanted.

Osamu slowly loosen his hold and lean his head away so that he could see Kageyama's face- but the artist only laid his head between Osamu's neck and shoulder. Chuckling and feeling his heart grew, the lord lightly thread his fingers through the artist's hair - the strands tickled his skin like threads of water. Osamu kissed the crown of his love's head causing Kageyama to quiver. The lord leaned down, kissed his ear, and whispered:

"I want you to finish the painting ... and I want you to keep it."

That had Kageyama looking up - moonlight illuminating his blue eyes that sapphires would wept in jealousy. Those eyes now looked at Osamu in a disbelieving, confusing trance.

"What?"

"I will pay the full price so you don't have to worry about that."

Kageyama leaned away even more, this time, looking insulted - a fight was slowly brewing and Osamu could barely suppressed the shudder at the thought of meeting it head on.

"I don't care about the money," the artist hissed. "Why do you not want the painting?"

"I want you to have it."

"For what? To decorate my workplace?" - Kageyama sat up and flung his hand up to indicate his room - "I have no need of it. Not to mention the question people will ask if they see it. Did you plan this? Did you always intend to leave the painting with me?"

The last question was asked with a hint of warning and Osamu sat up, he gently touched Kageyama's shoulder. The artist looked like he wanted to swap it away but he restrained himself - oh, that won't do. The last thing Osamu wanted was for Kageyama to contain himself again in front of him - especially if this was to be their last.

"No, I initially plan for you to paint me because I wanted to have something by you that was not something to showoff but something meant for me and me alone. I love what you did and I know it will be a great one when you are done but I realize that I can't have it with me ... when I am married." Osamu cupped Kageyama's face and brought their forehead closer so that they were breathing in each other. The lord's heart was jumping up a mile per seconds and he worried that he might need to called a physician over in case he fainted but he wanted to do this. "It will only serve as reminder of what I let go of - of a different life, of you. "

There was a sharp intake of breath and the feel of the artist's hands on his only send tumor in Osamu's heart.

"I didn't need you to model for me," Kageyama whispered. "I only asked that ... so that I could have you for myself even if it was an hour each day. But at least, in that one hour you were mine."

Osamu looked up and found Kageyama looking at him - of course, he was always looking back. Even when he won't take Osamu's hand, Kageyama was always looking at him - Osamu was so blinded with hurt, jealousy, and anger to take notice.

What a fool Osamu had been, what fools they were. They had been walking around each other; round and round on everything but the one thing that had pulled them together because if it was acknowledged than it could not be taken back. Like when Pandora opened her box and let loose all the misery to the world, if Osamu was to bear his heart, he was only inviting grief and despair.

And when this night end - when dawn starts her journey west- Osamu would had to leave and this one moment of bliss would end and only reminded in memory. Nothing was to come out of this for Osamu was to marry and Kageyama was to move away. Would they ever see each other again?

Kageyama must had known the path Osamu's thought was taking or perhaps he was having the exact same thoughts for he placed his forefinger on Osamu's lips - the contact brought a quiver down Osamu's spine that had him both cold and hot. He parted his lips and lightly dabbed his tongue on the finger. Kageyama's arm flinched but Osamu grabbed it to stay in place as he started licking and kissing each finger, in the junctures, in the palm. It was far more intimate than the storm of bites, scratches, and passion minutes ago.

No longer able to hold back, Kageyama, once more, took his hand away to replace Osamu's lips with his own. The force of it had the two men falling onto the bed with Osamu laying down and Kageyama leaning over him.

"When will you leave?" Kageyama whispered into the kiss.

Osamu leaned back reluctantly so that he could see those blue eyes. He placed a soft hand on Kageyama's cheek and the artist leaned into it as the hand moved down his neck and it stopped at his heart.

"When you asked me to go."

Kageyama bit his lips as he glanced to the painting. Osamu too looked at it. It hang diagonally to the window so that it was covering part of the moonlight from streaming in. Osamu's heart thumped heavily at the thought of leaving it behind but he knew it was for the best. There was a light touch to his chin that had Osamu looking back at his love's eyes.

 _Don't go_ , those eyes were saying.

 _I don't want to_ , Osamu wanted to reply back but -

"When the sun raises - it will give you enough light to start your journey."

Osamu gave a small smile, "till then, you are mine."

"Yes," Kageyama said, his lips turning upward into something soft, something sad.

Osamu pulled him down and Kageyama made no resistance. Both intended to make the most of the night and prayed for the sun to never raise again.

**\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- o ----- ----- ----- ----- -----**

**Four months later, _Florence, Italy_**

Kageyama was laying on the wooden panel that functioned as a bench and work desk. His right arm was over his eyes, blocking out the mid-day sunlight while his left hand tentatively brushed against the floor. His legs hang limply on the edge and his breathing was stable - with occasional deep breaths.

This was how Hinata found him.

"I knew you would be here!" There was rough poking to his sides and Kageyama angrily swayed his left arm up. But it hit only air for his friend was annoyingly fast. "Why did you not come to the wedding? _Signor_ Miya was most displeased especially when he sent you an invite. And you are dressed too. What? Didn't feel like going half way through?"

Kageyama growled, "get out." But it did not held the usually energy which must be why Hinata reminded silent for a few seconds.

"What's the matter? Couldn't find inspiration for your next commission?"

Kageyama only turned his back to him. He heard Hinata signed and soft tapping told him his friend was poking around his workshop. Usually this would had railed him up, had him jumping out of the bench and grabbing Hinata by his collar to throw him into the street. But just like everything today, he had no energy, no motivation - he had used them all to get dress only to give up on his way to the door because he could not bear it two years ago, four months ago, how could he bear it now when it would be right in front of him?

"This painting - " Hinata gasped and there was a sound of a heavy cloth falling onto the floor. "I thought you said you are planning to finish your commission in time for _Signor_ Osamu's wedding? Why is it still here - and unfinished? Won't he be upset?"

Kageyama did not say anything. Despite his closed eyes, he could see him - Osamu, sitting by the window, looking up and away, humming that little tune as he go about talking about his family, his week, his dreams as Kageyama observed him, sketch him, painted him. Then, he would turned and gave a small smirk that never failed to set heat in the artist's gut and had him readied his defenses for whatever ridiculous, cutting, cruel words his lord was about to impart. But those words, those moments would now only exist in his memory - and in the painting.

Yet for all his cruel words, his dismissive smirk, and his condensing tone, Osamu had never pushed him in a difficult position, never really demanded much from him. The youngest son seem content in making snubs at him without fully following through. But Osamu was also kind to him at times, he was the only one who seem to listen when Kageyama was talking, the only one who did not seem bored when he went on a bit of a tangent about a color or another artist's work. Sometimes, he would feel the lord's eyes on him - there was something there that had Kageyama's heart galloping as the Miya's fastest steed and his gut plummeting to the ground in anticipation.

Then, Osamu would stretched out his hands and Kageyama would take a step, his hand twitched to touch before he remembered himself; and he stepped away. Osamu's eyes narrowed and he would treated the chair Kageyama sat on as empty, would held his nose up high, and would had disregarded this moment of kindness as a passing fancy for the next months. And the cycle would repeat again and Kageyama had learned to hardened his heart.

It was dangerous - Kageyama could not angered the Miyas especially when he depended on them to survive, to paint, the one thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life. And if it meant having Osamu hated him, Kageyama had been willing to accept it.

Except Osamu had not hated him- he never did and Kageyama was left reeling on the years they could had have if he had not been afraid. But even if he had took Osamu's hand, the ending was still the same.

The wedding would still occurred.

Kageyama could almost imagine the ringing of the church bells which was equivocally the sound of the gates crushing down, locking him inside this gilded cage, his wings shredded - it was no doubt the same for Osamu. He wished he had never kissed him, wished they never spend the night together for he knew now what he forever lost.

"It's too late," he finally breathed out. The church bells rang in the distance. "It's all too late."

**\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- o ----- ----- ----- ----- -----**

**More than 500 years later - 20XX, _a city in the United States of America_**

Osamu was not looking forward to his end of term assignment for his Intro to Art History. He had only attended the class because one, he needed to complete a perceptive elective; and two, his twin had taken the same class last year which meant homework and test won't be an issue for him ( Atsumu was doing the same thing for his calculus class so it was equal exchange of unnecessary information). The class was easy enough, the professor was not too strict or overbearing, the lectures weren't sleep inducing, and Osamu had learned some interesting things about Christianity ( because the class focused mostly on _Western Art_ not _World Art_ despite being named _Art History_ ). But there was a reason why Osamu's minor was studio art - he could not be made to sit down and read a freaking essay on an artwork because god, did that sound boring and wasteful as hell.

And of course, his end of term assignment was to write a eight to ten page essay ( _Times News Roman_ font with an one inch margin, font size twelve, double spaced with a cover page) on a painting of his choice from any period in human history ( that was in the West, of course) in which he had to describe said painting and tracked the symbolism and art techniques the artist used that was indicative of the time period it was painted in.

Osamu tried to bride Atsumu into writing the essay by saying he would sit Atsumu's Calculus final but no, Atsumu's crush was in his Calculus class and they were going to have a study date the night before and the time before the exam; and by god was Atsumu not letting this chance split through his finger. And so Osamu told his twin that Hinata better be brained-fried by the end of the semester because that was the only way the red-head would ever agreed to date Atsumu. This resulted in his twin slamming the door in his face and Osamu got his revenge by eating both his own and his brother's breakfast for the next five days.

But now he only had two days left before his deadline and he was panicking ( but not enough to strangle his brother for placing him in this position). It was for this reason he decided to enter the ---- museum in the early morning of Friday after his morning run. He had noticed the museum before and had planned to go there since it was free for students; however, he never did because he was that lazy sometimes.

But a possible failing grade meant a lesser GPA which also meant a possibility of his scholarship being revoked; thus, Osamu pushed himself toward the museum instead of the university.

The main hall of marble white was disturbingly quiet and empty saved for a single guard at the door. It was like entering a tomb. Osamu shivered and picked up the museum pamphlet which was advertising an exhibition of a Renaissance artist whose forty-seven artworks, all on loaned from Florence, Milan, Rome, and such for a world tour, were in displayed till February.

Seeing that the exhibition was only a few rooms over and that the pamphlet already contained some information about the artist's work, Osamu decided he might as well chose one of this person's work that caught his eyes. 

There was only one occupant in the gallery when Osamu arrived and the person was seated at the very end of the hall in front of a painting that was a dwarf compared the monstrosity beside it. The gigantic painting caught Osamu's breath and he walked toward it.

The art work showcased the artist's own version of hell - a long table where eight creature of various sizes, shapes, and features sat feasting on - Osamu leaned closer- food imprinted with human flesh and expressions of suffering. It was chaotic, a blood feast of black and red that had Osamu both hungry and nauseous; it invited the view to look at each and every location on the canvas, and in some cases, to look again for there seem to be some story told. Now Osamu may not be a well-read art historian and his understanding of Christianity was weak as hell ( no pun intended) but he hazard a guess that each of the seven demon represented each of the seven deadly sins. The monster in the middle must be Satan.

Osamu frowned, why would the Seven Deadly Sins be feasting on humans - wasn't the idea that the sins were the reasons for humans to enter hell and it was the demons who ate the sinners? Maybe he interpreted the painting wrong. He looked at the small plague beside it and read its inscription:

 _Monsters' Banquet_ , c. 15XX- 15XX

tempura on wood, 203 x 314 cm

_This painting was commissioned by ------ di ---------- for the church of -------- ----------- in Rome, in 15XX. The artist skillfully captured the horror and question of what await sinners in hell with the exaggerated use of light and dark that highlighted the anatomical abnormities of the demons and the sufferings of the humans. Most unusual of the time, the back-drop of hell was depicted as a normal sitting room with the demons sitting in a orderly manner which only served to convey a sense of imbalance and uncertainty on the viewers._

Well, it certainly was unnerving, Osamu would gave it that. He looked at the painting until his brain could no longer process the different hues of red and his eyes felt like bleeding . He turned to the next artwork, which with its lighter tone was a relief to his poor eyes.

From there, Osamu slowly moved down the gallery. He had hoped to do a quick hop in and hop out but the artist's subject matter, colors, and composition drew him in and demanded him to look at each work with the attention and time they deserved. He was little bit annoyed to find he could not disobey this invincible command but the beautiful feast before him made up for it.

One set of paintings that caught his eyes were two portraits which according to the inscription were the sons of the artist's first patron. What interested Osamu was that the sons were twins. If it were not for the different clothing and background, he would had assumed it was the same person wearing different expressions. The eldest son had more lively eyes and a hint of a smile while the younger was more subdued but for some reason his eyes seem more weighted. Osamu gave the artist credit for being able to capture these subtle details. Another noteworthy thing was that the inscription noted that one of the son ( or even both of them) was believed to be a possible lover of the artist. 

Looking at the portrait again, Osamu guessed it was the eldest one since his was more detailed and far more expressive than the youngest.

The last painting was a bit of a letdown, especially since it was next to the _Monsters' Banquet._

 _Lord by the Window_ , c. 15XX- 15XX

oil on canvas, 90 x 88 cm

_Commissioned around 15XX by the ------ family. This unique painting of a lord looking out the window was incomplete and would be in the artist's possession until his death. It was then bought by ----- ------------ in 16XX. A century later, it would-be taken by Napoleon's troops to Paris where it would remained for another century before it was returned to Florence in 18XX._

The painting focused on a single individual whose back was to the viewers so that only a part of the left side of his face could be seen. True to its name, the lord was sitting on some bench, looking out of a window which was illuminating light onto him and fighting off the shadows that were creeping up from the floor and walls of the room he was in. It wasn't a bad painting but Osamu was sure Renaissance subjects tend to look at the viewers or at least had their face in plain view. Not to mention while the lord and the inside were semi-detailed, the window was empty so that the lord seemed to be viewing a snow-filled landscape or nothingness which partly ruined the overall composition of the painting.

Even so, Osamu could not help but felt the loneliness the lord was no doubt feeling, it reminded him of the time he first witnessed snow in America that left him aching for the countryside of his homeland. This was mix with a sense of longing - a longing for something different. It could be interfered from the curve of the lord's back as he edged out of the window as if testing the limit of his stoned-cage.

"Hey, Miya - can you move?"

The familiar pronunciation of Japanese spoken in a dull voice shock Osamu from his emotional reverence and he turned around to find the other occupant of the room glaring up at him. The minute their eyes met, Osamu felt something sparked in his mind and a sense of déjà vu washed over him. Now, where had he seen this man before? It had something to do with Atsumu, speaking of which-

"Miya? Ya know my brother or somethin'?" Osamu asked as he moved a bit to the side. He noticed that the man was holding a sketchbook about the size of his chest and his bag was opened to reveal a mess of papers, spiral notebooks, and a pencil case. The additional splashes and smudges of color on the edges of the bag and the man's jeans screamed "art student."

The man blinked owlishly at him - his eyes narrowed as he took Osamu in and said, "your brother?"

Osamu nodded, "yeah, Atsumu's his name," - he pointed at himself- "I'm Osamu."

The man's eyes narrowed even more as he looked Osamu up and down. His body language screamed "I don't believe you" which did not really surprised him. If this man was a classmate of Atsumu or had known Atsumu then the man might had been a victim to his twin's many pranks and jokes. God knows the number of friends Osamu had was started by their unfortunate meeting with his brother.

"I'm not lyin'," Osamu said as he took out his phone from his pocket and opened his photo folder. He selected the most recent photo - taken last night - and showed it to the man. It was one of him and Atsumu side by side - or more accurately, of him doing a peace sign next to Atsumu's sleeping face which had scribbles and doodles drawn on it.

The man did not laughed but the early hostile aura lessen as he sat back and observed Osamu again.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Osamu putted his phone back into this pocket with a casual shrug, "it's alright. Happens all the time. Even I have a hard time believin' Atsumu's my brother."

The man hummed and seeing that the confusion was cleared, he resumed his attention to the painting and his sketchbook. Osamu found the dismissal a bit concerning for this moment of mistaken identity tend to work as an ice-breaker before he got the person's number. People always said that while Atsumu was good to look at, his personality left much to desire (unless your name was Hinata Shouyou, who believed otherwise). Osamu had always been upheld as a better version and he would admit it did get to his head from time to time. Not to mention, Osamu was currently wearing a tracksuit that an ex once said really emphasized his shoulders and waist; he had also been running so he was at his peak physical attractiveness. So what in god's name was so interesting that this man chose to ignore his presence.

Osamu watched the man's hand flew across the page and then he looked back at the artwork. 

Compare to the other paintings, the _Lord by the Window_ was far too simple and empty - it wasn't chaotic like the _Monsters' Banquet_ nor was it thought-provoking as the _Annunciation_ or as colorful as the one of a town square ( _Piazza della Signoria_ , Osamu guessed , based on the fortress-like building with a tower sticking out of it located at the edge of the artwork).

"Not his best work, is it?" Osamu asked out loud.

"It _is_ one of his best."

Osamu had not expected an answer but decided to snatched the opportunity nonetheless.

"Why say that?"

The man finally looked up, his blue eyes gleamed at him under the artificial lighting, "just because its uncompleted doesn't mean it bad."

"I'm not sayin' its bad but ya gotta admit other works are more impressive. But I can see how this one could be great if he continue it. Was this his last work before he died - is that why it's never finished?" Osamu was a bit curious as to the circumstances around this painting. He was never one to leave a project uncompleted unlike Atsumu who currently had eighteen unfinished projects hanging around their shared dorm room. Thus, he wondered why an artist reputed to leaving no work undone had left an unfinished one behind.

"No, it was one of his earlier works - painted around his early or mid- twenties depending on which scholar you read. No one could pinpoint the exact date. He lived till his seventies so -" the man shrugged.

Osamu whistled. "So this could be like a draft? Or a practice run for another work?"

The man shook his head. "He doesn't leave any draft behind; besides he did not need to draft since he would start on a canvas from the get go after an idea was hatched."

"Seriously?" Osamu could not keep the awe form his voice as he once more looked at the other artworks. "All this with no drafts? He a genius or something?"

"Yes, he was," the man whispered as he too look around. Then, as if remembering himself, he shot Osamu a glance before returning to his sketchbook. But Osamu was not going to let that deterred him for the man had his interest hook, line, and stinker.

"Say, what's yer name?" He asked - might as well get that over with.

A pause then, "Kageyama."

"Wait," Osamu gasped as the name brought back a memory of Atsumu slamming the door in agitation because a _freshie_ had gotten a far better review than he had. "Ya Atsumu's goody-two shoe!"

"I'm his what?" Kageyama looked very insulted and Osamu internally winced at his mistake - he had not wanted to antagonized the man but he was not doing a good job so far. He stumbled a bit to explain himself.

"What I meant was ya the freshman whose been giving my brother a hard time last year."

"I'm sorry?"

"Nay, don't apologize. Atsumu needed it. Someone got to keep his ego in check and it can't just be me all the time." Osamu gave a small smile in hope that the tension would lessen but Kageyama neither returned it nor lessen his frown. What a stubborn guy.

A bit desperate to get himself back on Kageyama's good side ( was he ever on his good side?), Osamu pointed at the _Lord by the Window_ and asked, "so ya studying this for a class?"

Kageyama looked at him for a good minute before replaying with a haltingly "yes."

"Why? Aren't other works better one to look at? Unless this is yer favorite painting of his."

"It's -" Kageyama stopped and looked at the painting, then at Osamu, then at his sketchbook. "It's not that it's my favorite. It's more like it's the one that bothered me the most."

"Bothered ya?" Osamu slowly walked toward the bench and pointing at the empty space, asked, "can I sit here?"

A hesitant nod was given. Osamu immediately regretted sitting down because now that he was closer to Kageyama he realized several things: one, he and Kageyama were about the same height; two, a sweet, spicy scent filled his nostrils that had him stopping himself from leaning closer (he was already toeing the line of unwanted talker, he refused to entered pervert territory); three, Kageyama's eyes were really blue which seem to be the man's favorite color given by his dark blue bag and notebooks.

"So, what about the painting bothered ya?" Osamu asked again after clearing his throat.

"Well- it's the way the lord is drawn," - Kageyama shook his head with a deep frown- "Since this is a commission, it meant that the lord was the one who told the artist to draw him like this. Which is weird, I mean when you want something made for you, especially if you have wealth, you want to be shown at your best or at least your 'human' side, right?"

"Right."

"But this is more subdued - the lord's clothing is simple. No extravagance or show of power. Plus, if you look at the bench the lord is sitting on, you can see it's a worker bench - not one found in rich household. But it is hard to determine the location of the room because there is nothing in the window to hint it. Plus, doesn't it feel like we are looking into a private moment that was never meant for us to be seen?"

"Hmmm, I can see that. So the unusual composition and questions surrounding this painting is what bothered ya?"

"Yes... and, this is more of a personal interpretation but I feel that the artist was discontent with this work. There are articles written of how the canvas was painted on again and again, especially in the area around the lord's face and hand as if the artist was unsure of what he how he wanted to go about this painting."

"Discontent - perhaps that why he never finish this? He got tired."

Kageyama could only shrugged. But it seem that Osamu's question had opened a floodgate as he started talking a bit about the artist's life and how his works were influenced by the issues and other artists of the time. While the subject matter was fascinating in its own right, Osamu was more drawn in by the openness in Kageyama's face - a bit flush and his eyes wide- the passion in his voice, and the exhilarated love he had over the artist and his works.

It was so endearing and Osamu could sit there all day and listened to him talked his ear off on this subject.

"Of course, there are scholars who believed that the lord was his lover," Kageyama said as he turned his body around toward the twin portraits.

"Oh, the eldest son -" Osamu started but Kageyama whirled around with wide eyes.

"No, it's the youngest son."

"Ha? No way, his was the weakest painting of the two."

"Which is exactly why I think it's the youngest son."

"Won't he put more effort on his lover's portrait?"

Kageyama bit his lips which was a mistake as that gave Osamu a reason to look at them. _Dammit_. With great effort, he brought his attention back to what was being said.

"It could go either way but his patron was a powerful man - he's not one you want to anger."

"And sleepin' with his son would do that," Osamu finished.

Kageyama nodded. "Which is why the youngest son's portrait is weak- he put less emphasis so he won't be found out. Besides the youngest son was engaged so it's not really an information you want people to know."

"But it got out anyway since we are talkin' about it."

"Come look at this," Kageyama got up and walked toward the Lord by the Window. He pointed at the lord's face. "He did kind of looked like the sons, don't he?"

"Really? I can't tell." Osamu leaned closer; he then looked at the twins portraits and returned to the painting. "I _really_ can't tell."

"Well, that's what I believed. Other scholars and historians had made similar reasoning." Kageyama returned to his seat, his face pensive as he looked at his sketchbook. Osamu also sat back down.

"So does that mean there are also others who say it's the eldest?"

A glare but Osamu thought it lack the intensity from before (god, he hoped so).

"You're not letting this up, are you?"

"Nope," Osamu was already thinking about looking up some essays on the subject just so he could gave his argument a strong support. He was sure his reasoning was in the right and he really did not want to lose to Kageyama, who snorted.

"Well, good luck with that."

"Ya look strangely confident in knowing the thoughts of a dead white guy."

Kageyama stroked his sketchbook with a thoughtful expression. "Well, I read a lot about him. Anything I could get my hands - regardless if its trash or made-up- because the thought of not knowing is worst than knowing half a story. I know I will never have a full picture of who he was and what he did five hundred years ago but I would like to know as much as I can."

"Woah, so passionate."

Kageyama scowled at him to which Osamu grinned. He was starting to get a sense of Kageyama's moods and that his frown was not a clear indication of what went on in his head. But this was only a partly formed idea from a twenty minute meeting - it was not enough.

"Is the Renaissance yer forte?" At Kageyama's quizzical raised of his eyebrow, Osamu expanded on his point. "Yer interest, ya know how some artist tend to have this one period of history or movement they really, really focused on. Mine's more on wood block prints of the Meiji period and a bit of Art Noueveau."

"Oh, actually my interest is the Baroque. I am only interested in the Renaissance because of this artist- I don't care much for Michelangelo or Leonardo."

"They're rollin' in their grave for that comment."

"What about you - you're an artist too?"

"More of a hobby really but I'm taking Studio Art as a minor. My major is business but I'm thinkin' of changing it to focus more on food or environmental sustainability. What 'bout ya?"

"I am majoring in Studio Art with a concentration in art management."

"Oh ho, wanna be a curator one day?"

Kageyama only shrugged. "Are you here for the four years or doing half?"

"Four years - got a full scholarship so kind of a requirement."

The university, both Osamu and Kageyama attended, was well-known for its international students - about one percent of whom were from Japan, meaning for every hundred student, there was one who was Japanese. Both Osamu and Atsumu had chosen this school because while they liked a bit of adventure and the free room and board the school offer, they still wanted to know what the hell was going on without being made to feel like an idiot over their accented English and lack of acknowledge about American culture and interest. Not that they did not faced some of these very issue when they came but at least there were students who had similar experiences and worries that made them feel understood in the unfamiliar land and soothed the ache of homesickness.

Osamu paused as something came to mind. "Kageyama, ya born here, right? Atsumu once talked about it."

"Yes." A paused then, "I actually used to live in this area before my family moved back to Japan."

"So you know this area well, like really well?"

"Yes."

"Like the best place for coffee and a bite to eat?"

"Maybe."

"Great, wanna get some coffee later today when ya done with classes?"

"Y-what?" Kageyama blinked at him and his cheek slowly turned pink as he fully processed what was asked. Osamu had never found anything so fascinating. "Umm - you want to get coffee with me?"

Osamu nodded.

"Why?"

"Why not? We still need to continue on our great debate of the identity of the mysterious lover and I wanna hear more about him." _And you_ , but that felt a bit too much so Osamu saved it for a later time.

Kageyama frowned. "I thought you were joking."

"I never joke about coffee and food," Osamu said straight-faced.

"No, I mean the debate - I didn't think you were seriously going to look him up."

"Well, I like a challenge and ya succeed in making me interested."

Kageyama looked away - he seem a bit upset and Osamu wondered if he overstepped. He was about to apologize when Kageyama muttered, "I don't really know many places that have good coffee - I don't go out much and I usually used the university cafe."

Osamu smiled. "That's alright. I got a list of top ten best cafe - yes, I made a list," Osamu added at Kageyama's incredulous look. "Food's my hobby as well and I'm not going to go to one place for the rest of my four years here. Might as well get the most out of this. So, does that mean it's a yes?"

Kageyama sighed, "yeah, I guess."

"Ya don't need to act like this is a bother cause if it is ya don't hafta agree-"

"No!" Kageyama bulked at his raised voice as a passing viewer glared at him. Osamu glared back at them until they looked away. "I mean, it's okay. I want to go." Osamu breathed out in relief only to give out a small gasp in mock indignation when Kageyama said, "you will pay, of course."

"Huh? What brought that on?"

"You are the one who asked me first."

"Oh, so this is a date?"

Osamu could not keep his grin in at the flabbergasted look on Kageyama's face. Really, this man was too expressive sometimes.

"That's- that's not the point. I mean - urg- fine! I will pay for my own." And the man honest to God pouted. But before Osamu could poke him some more, his phone chimed so loudly that the viewer glared at them again. Osamu ignored them as he took his phone out to see a text from Atsumu:

 _PAIN IN THE ASS_ : WHERE YOU AT?????????????

 _PAIN IN THE ASS_ : can you come

 _PAIN IN THE ASS_ : I lock myself out

 _PAIN IN THE ASS_ : NOT MY FAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 _God, this bastard_ , Osamu thought as he texted back.

"Sorry, Kageyama, I need to get back cause Atsumu's being a big baby again," Osamu said as he got up. He did not bothered to hide the upset in his voice.

"Oh, okay."

"I will text ya the place and we can talk 'bout a time that works."

"My last class's at two."

Osamu smiled, "good, mine ends at two fifteen so we can meet around three?"

"Okay."

"Great," Osamu said and he took one last look at Kageyama. For some reason, he found the act of walking away equivalent to rolling a boulder uphill. His heart felt heavy at the thought of not seeing him anymore - which was stupid. He was seeing him in seven hours anyway.

It was not until the guard at the museum entrance exclaimed, "Young man, are you okay?" did Osamu realized he was crying.

"What?" Osamu gasped as he touched his cheek and felt it wet. The tears kept on coming but no matter how much he blinked and wiped it away. But the thing that confused him the most was that he was not upset.

He was happy.

**\----- ----- ----- ----- ----- o ----- ----- ----- ----- -----**

Kageyama looked at the _Lord by the Window_ , the painting that haunted his dreams from the moment he saw it in a picture book about Renaissance artists. Academic papers had written about it in term of its relation to other Renaissance artworks, its technique, its hints to the elusive artist's life; novels were sold that ranged from biographical to fantastical; documentaries, exhibitions. Anything he could get his hands on about the paining, he had read, studied, and collected them all. But Kageyama had not just wanted to study it.

He wanted to finish it.

Kageyama had not realized this until he heard Miya Osamu said, _"Not his best work is it?"_

Something ignited inside him that was more than the need to defend his favorite artist's reputation - it was a burning inferno that he had been tending to for years and years until Osamu drew in the last of the gunpowder and it exploded the gates, stacked with hesitation and discontent, into smithereens.

Of all the artworks - of the forty-seven that existed, the _Lord by the Window_ was the most personal and the most saddest painting by the artist. That was what Kageyama believed. The fact that it was not finished only strengthen it. Kageyama had enough confidence in his artistic abilities to know he could recreate the artwork ( as long as he did not try to sell it or past it off as his own, it was perfectly legal - he had checked on a drunken whim endorsed and supported by Hinata and Tsukishima, the former was just as drunk as he was while the latter was very sober).

_"Not his best work is it?"_

For some reason, it had felt like Osamu was challenging him - challenging his ability as an artist, his pride as a historian, and his identity, which he had linked to the paining.

Which was ridiculous for today was the first time Kageyama ever had a conversation with Osamu, who he did not even know existed. Osamu, who was the exact opposite of his brother (who had walked into Kageyama's Studio Art 239, took one look at his painting, and said, "ya a goody two shoe, arentcha?"). Osamu, who apparently seem to find Renaissance artists' works and lives fascinating despite admitting to having never cared for them before - or perhaps it was just the one artist (Kageyama could not fault him for having taste).

It felt refreshing to be able to talk so openly about the painting; his small number of friends had gotten tired of hearing his - what Hinata had named - _Lord by the Wind_ monologue to the point Kageyama could barely say the artist's name without his friends groaning in mock pain. It was nice to talk to someone who did not know and who was just as eager to listen. No doubt, Osamu would get tired of it - and of Kageyama too since art was his life and anyone who had tried to date him in the past had learned very quickly they could not separated him from it. And Kageyama had learned to not read too much into the question of "getting some coffee later" and "this is a date" because most of the time, nothing went beyond that.

But even so, his traitorous mind rewinded the image of Osamu's attentive face - his eyes never leaving Kageyama's. His dark brows low over those half-lidded eyes that made him looked half-awake but his questions made it quite clear he was listening. A small smile just visible behind his fingers as he leaned his elbows on his knee and his chin on his hand -

Kageyama's hands tighten their hold of his book causing the paper to crease when his phone chimed.

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER:_ Hi its Osamu

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER_ : Dont worry got number from Atsumu

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER_ : Here the place

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER_ : *image of a cafe with the address*

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER:_ Fine I will pay

 _UNKNOWN NUMBER:_ But your paying next time

 _Don't expect too much_ , Kageyama reminded himself as he reread the fifth and sixth text for the tenth time. Once again his mind presented him with the image of Osamu's back walking down the room - his dark hair lighted by the artificial light had Kageyama's hand itching to recreate on paper, on a canvas.

Sighing, he leaned onto his hands and almost jumped. He pulled them away and looked down at the wetness on his palms. He quickly opened his phone, hit the camera button and the reverse image button to see his eyes and cheeks, squashed between the same rectangular frame, flowing with water.

_I'm ... crying?_

Kageyama touched his cheek again but this time to gently swipe a tear away only for another to take its place. His hand fell to his heart which was beating in a steady pace - the exact opposite of his lungs that were jumping with exhilarating joy and his stomach in which the caterpillars had became fully grown butterflies.

He was happy.

So, so happy that he wanted to curved into a feral ball and cried his eyes out while also laughed out loud recklessly with only the paintings as his witness ( and that other viewer whose presence he had forgotten about).

 _All this over a text_?

No. Kageyama's hand twisted his clothes as he realized in addition to the joy, he was relieved as if he had been holding his breath all his life and could now finally allowed himself to feel again. It had been a while since he felt this way and he did not know why he was even feeling this.

It took him about five minutes to calm down; another five minutes to read Osamu's text over and over again; five more minutes to think and draft his answer, and a minute to write it down and hit send.

He then looked back at the _Lord by the Window_ \- its empty window challenging him. What was it that the lord was longing for? Why was it never completed? Who was he? The eternal questions that art historians and scholars asked themselves. 

What does it looked like completed? The question Kageyama asked himself.

The artist was in his mid- twenties when he painted this, a possible commission for one of his patron's sons, but he never finished it in the fifty years he was alive.

Kageyama was only twenty years old and later that day, he would be meeting Osamu for coffee ( the thought turned his stomach again, this time in anticipation), and he had all the time in the world.

It was not too late.

**Author's Note:**

> Just some quick notes:  
> The ending scene of Renaissance Kageyama's POV is based on the ending scene of "Hana No Miyako De" by Takarai Rihito when the main character lay dejected as his love got married. The manga is a prequel to "Hana No Mizo Shiru." It is a sweet story that tugs the heart. 
> 
> And yes, Osamu read the essays instead of listening to his lectures in time for the café meet up/ date. And yes, he procrastinated on his final assignment until it was six hours before the deadline (Kageyama started judgmentally at him as Osamu frantically typed his essay). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you enjoy it!


End file.
